in a dimly lit computer shop.
Hacker?
*no. ****** of infidel inboxes*.
Wow. Computer genius
lucid dreamer, green-horn.
Mystic?
poet.
A lover then?
*no. just a hacker of heart,
a forsaken grass*.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
when every morning
the things that used to sooth
exhausted heart
and hands become unwelcome
stalkers that assault
the mind like smog
and fumes bathing Manila;
when the obnoxious cycle
of age-old lies and greed
grows stronger every minute,
where can one find deliverance?
or is there such thing as deliverance
anymore? refuge of pen from pain?
but it only accentuates the misery;
the faster the words
populate the page, the deeper
the memory stabs the heart;
yet, is there any other way
than this catharsis?
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
No safer shelter than the trigger.
Training and trenches teach him: ****
Or get killed. So he masters the skill. He kills
Mosqitoes and cockroaches. He kills
Rats, cats, and chickens. One day he traps
A trembling pup. Gripping a dagger, he grabs
The dog’s nape and rips open its neck. Warm
And sweet as wine – the blood. And for blood
He craves. He strangles a suspected rebel before
His pregnant wife. Not a whimper escapes from her
Mouth. Her soul seethes as her eyes clasp the last gasp
Of a baby lying between her legs – six months
In her womb. He ends her anguish by feeding her
Bullets. He hacks the neck of the moribund
Husband. He hangs the head on a pole and displays it
To rot on the street. And for more blood his heart
Aches. He orders his men to burn the village of Las Navas
And shoots everyone that runs. He chomps off
The ear of a poet and cracks open her skull. Her brain,
His dip. And he feasts on his skill. Until one twilight
A wayward bullet snatches the trigger from his finger,
Finds its nest in his chest. He marvels at how deep
His blood darkens, how fast his blood clots, how tight
His blood clings to life. Then he hears faint footfalls coming,
Merging with the droning stream. Figures familiar to him,
Bare and brown as the earth weave a web of shadows
Over his body. And he waits for their hands to carry his own law
Down his skull. But something heavier befalls –
Gazing at the sky for the first time, stunned by the bleeding
Colors of the twilight, he glimpses a pair of cupped
Hands dripping life into his wound. Into his trembling lips.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
cast
a stone
into the sea
and see
how the salt
gasps
into a gaping
wound.
don’t blink;
it heals quicker
than a wink.
not even its froth
can glance
at the magic.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
last night
i dreamt of home –
as my soles kiss
the verdant hill
where i used to nurse
my bruised knees
and broken kites
the moon sings
and my shadow dances
with the blades of grass.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
Salvador devotes the rest of his life
praying to save the world from hunger and war
and pestilence.
He preaches to the beggars: *ignore
hunger, thank God for the beauty of this smog-
infested sky where the moon and the stars
and the fireflies succumb to the blasts of neon
lights and flares of profit.*
He preaches to the beggars: *endure
life as you sleep in pavements among blots
of bubble gum and dirt and spit and morsels
of pity. This hell tempers your faith.*
He preaches to the beggars: *learn
the ways of gadflies -- know with pinpoint precision
where to look for carcass to feast on.*
But the beggars gather away from Salvador’s
prayers. Cradled by their pus and grime
and lice and love of life; with their hard-bitten
fingers and sermon-broken eardrums and
bleeding hearts, they
heave the birthing of their own salvation.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Your teacher’s wrath
bleeding in your poem
crashes your heart;
Your teacher’s blood
throbbing in your poem
crashes your soul.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Assure your child she is
safe within the confines
of your embrace; tell her she is
free from fright within the bounds
of your sight. Convince her that
a voice as sweet as hers deserves
no other ears than yours; let her
feel that to be free, safe, and sweet she
needs no noise, she needs not
speak. Make her believe that
silence is the air she must
breathe; then show her your candor --
cut her tongue.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
How can this rage not explode? Her eyes
looking but not seeing, glued yet
wandering. She’s everywhere, she’s
nowhere, seeking refuge where
I don’t exist or where I
am dead or just a twig she feeds
to the flame, blue with her
wrath. She has mastered the contours of
my anger and I still ***** along
the fence of her defense. Isn’t silence
sweet? Why then the muteness
my voice has summoned deafens me
now? Where is the shore of this howling
sea of reticence? How can a clever
plan fail? – trap her in a minor
encounter. Squeeze out from her
throat a meow to unlock her
lies, and trigger the torrent of dia-
tribes I have long nurtured. But how
can I bear her empty stare? Her
frozen gaze that sets me ablaze?
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
gaze into me not with the eyes that fortress
a lie, just like the glint of dew that conceals
the tinge of dark in a dying petal;
gaze into me with the heart that bares
every faltering breath, just like the bud that bursts
into a flower in the silence of dawn.
there is no other choice, as long
as we long for an everbloom
of love.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC